Between the darkness and the light
by theStarchilde
Summary: One of my wackier ideas. An AU - sort of - fusing the Supernatural universe with the B5 timeline. Sam and Dean travel to Babylon5 in search of a powerful object and find themselves entangled in the station's confusing web of politics and intrigues. Author note inside explains the motive behind this weirdness
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: Okay, I suppose I **_**really **_**should explain where this came from. Apparently, my mind gets these really weird ideas sometimes. So, Bruce Boxleitner said once at a convention something along the lines of, if B5 was to be filmed now, the producers would force the show to accommodate to certain trends – such as having a vampire on station. Of course he was half-kidding and he meant it as a negative example – which, yeah, it is, and don't worry, there aren't going to be any vampires in this one. But it got me thinking. And I wondered if I could try something that would merge the **_**Babylon 5 **_**universe with the **_**Supernatural **_**one. Or rather how would the **_**Supernatural **_**events work in the **_**Babylon 5 **_**timeline.**

**This is an AU for both shows, although I also tried to stay as faithful to the spirit of both series as possible. Apart from the introduction of supernatural elements the **_**B5 **_**world is mostly intact – why mess with a good thing, I say? The storyline of **_**Supernatural **_**is also as close to the one in the show as it can be with a few changes here and there to adapt it to the new time period and circumstances. As regards to the timeline, picture this taking place somewhere in season 2 for Babylon 5 (around the start of the Narn-Centauri war) and middle of season 6 for **_**Supernatural**_** (if you can imagine season 6 of **_**Supernatural **_**with the odd alien thrown in and some events taking place all over the Earth Alliance ****). I'll be honest, it took a while until I decided to post this story. I wasn't really sure it could work. But then I decided to follow my own belief that some stories are universal and timeless. And let's face it, the story of two brothers fighting against darkness – that's as timeless as it gets. It mind sound like a wacky crossover, but let's treat it as an experiment and see how it goes, shall we?One more thing and then I'll end this ridiculously long note: profound apologies, but I had to take some liberties regarding space travel in B5 universe. As in, I don't remember there being any small personal ships that could travel great distances on their own, but if there aren't, then let's just put this under the AU column and say there were. I had to give Sam and Dean a vehicle of their own and a small flyer was more believable than having a 67 Impala crossing the galaxy anyway…**

**Neither show belongs to me and I make no profit out of this – who'd pay for such a wacky idea anyway? Enjoy!**

**Prologue**

When one was travelling in space, one had the luxury to observe a world that was truly still – unchanging and unfailing. The stars and the planets seemed always there, the strange glimmers you caught from the corner of your eye when you were inside hyperspace, they were all expected and even welcome. They rarely shifted and changed and they rarely deceived. At least, they could never deceive one who knew them as well as Dean Winchester did, who had been outside in space more often than he was on solid ground. Perhaps that was why Dean liked being "on the road" as he called it, so much. There was nothing but stars and silence there and his faithful ship – outdated, many people called it, but Dean thought her more reliable than the latest-model passenger liners or whatever they were calling them these days. And there was his brother Sam, also. In Dean's opinion, that was more than enough.

Dean was the type who could forget that the journey through space was only a means to an end. They were not just travelling aimlessly, whatever other people who did not know the whole truth might think. They were always going somewhere, always with a destination in mind. Sometimes, they made stops along the way, it was true. But not this time.

This particular journey was different for so many reasons. They were in a hurry for one thing. For another – they had never been to their future destination before. Which was saying something.

The Winchesters had been all over the galaxy. They had been all over Earth, of course. Earth was their home. They would have probably remained there all their lives, had not their previously normal existence been shattered by evil forces and demons and things that the rest of the world deemed nothing but primitive superstitions. The Winchesters knew better. They did not impart their knowledge to the world, though. There would have been no point in it. Instead, they tried to erase all traces of their evil forces, waging a never-ending battle that had carried them miles and light years away.

Their next most frequently travelled-to destination was Mars. That was partly because that was where Bobby Singer lived and he was as close to a family and a stable home as the two young men could ever get. It was also because Mars was very active when it came to spirits and hauntings. No surprises there, the history of Mars had been bloody from the start. The harsh conditions had caused countless of deaths and accidents for the first explorers of the Red Planet. The survival rate among the first colonists had been dramatically low. And even in the latter years, things were little better. Oh, the conditions were ok, the dome making some places in Mars livable and even comfortable. But blood still poured on the streets of Mars, resistance fighters and Earth soldiers were always doing battle, caught in an endless fight for independence and as always, innocent people were caught in the middle. It was an environment that generated vengeful spirits by the dozens and the Winchesters were not the only Hunters – as that was what they called themselves – to visit the planet for general clean-up.

The situation was almost identical in the other Earth colonies as well. Orion 7 and Proxima 3 were plagued by the same problems. So were the smaller planets that were mostly mining outposts. These had the usual work accidents to add to the mix. From the perspective of someone from the past, life might have seemed quite simple – all those technologies that enable space travel and outposts away from Earth and contact with alien civilizations – but those that lived in the present knew exactly how difficult it actually was. And few knew it better than the Winchesters.

And their travels were not limited only to the places where humans lived. A few times they had gone to small alien worlds as well. There was a small colony on the edge of Brakiri space, for example, where the people knew exactly who they were and what they did. They welcomed the two brothers – or any other hunter that happened to pass by – and they even paid them when the job was done.

By mutual consensus, though, Sam and Dean had a few places they avoided. They would never go to the home-worlds of the major races. Minbar was out of the question. So was the Narn home-world and Centauri Prime. It was too risky to go there.

Until then, Babylon 5, the famous space station now three years old would have fallen under the latter category. Dean would have never gone there. The place might have been five miles long, but it was still an enclosed station, with tight security and only one way out. Hundreds of things could go wrong in a place like that. It simply was not worth the risk.

This time, however, it seemed that they had no choice but to go there. A few weeks before, Castiel had begun telling them of some kind of object – he was very vague about it, but then again, vague and cryptic were usually Castiel's trademarks and both Dean and Sam were plenty used to it by now. He was saying it would aid in his fight against Raphael and thus prevent the other archangel from staring the rebooted version of the Apocalypse. It all sounded like good news except for two things: Castiel did not exactly know what kind of object it was and, as far as he had been able to track it, it had to be on Babylon 5.

"Ok," Dean had said that day when they had all been sitting in Bobby's almost one of a kind library (if the newly-formed censorship office back on Earth knew the type of books Bobby Singer had, they would probably have a field day getting rid of all of them), "So why can't you go there and get it? I mean, it's not like getting there is that much of a problem for you, is it? You can be in and out of the station before we can say Cas."

Castiel had avoided Dean's gaze, looking slightly uneasy.

"It is a rather tricky situation on Babylon 5," he had said in the end. "Suffice to say that I – or any other of my kind for that matter – would rather not set foot inside the station, if we can help it."

"Why the hell not?" Bobby had inquired, irritated. "It's not like you have to declare you're an angel at the freaking customs."

"It is not that," Castiel had replied. "Kosh might be on the station."

Sam had tilted his head at that.

"Kosh?" he had repeated. "You mean the Vorlon Ambassador."

Typical Sam to be interested in the machinations of Babylon 5 so much that he could tell the name of the Vorlon Ambassador without blinking. Dean, himself, had been unable to recognise the name – although he did know what a friggin' Vorlon was, thank you very much. Well, at least he knew as much as the rest of the world did what a friggin' Vorlon was, which, admittedly, was not a lot. But Dean dared even Sam to say that he knew more.

"What's it to you if you're in the same place as the Vorlon Ambassador?" Sam had insisted.

But Castiel had, of course, been his usual mysterious self and had refused to say anything else no matter how much Sam had pushed. In the end, it was a moot point anyway. For whatever reason – and to be honest, Dean did not much care about the reason as much as he cared about the result – Castiel could not or would not go to Babylon 5. Which, of course, meant that Sam and Dean were going to be the ones to go there and locate the object – whatever the hell that was – and smuggle it out of the station and back on Mars were they were supposed to regroup at Bobby's. It was a plan that brought with it a gazillion of things that could go wrong. It was a disaster waiting to happen. Or, it was just another day in the life of the Winchesters.

Dean cast a look at Sam in the seat next to him. As if almost sensing his brother looking at him, Sam turned to meet his eyes.

"So, we're finally doing it, huh?" he inquired. "Going to Babylon 5."

Dean could tell that, in spite of the risks, Sam could not help being excited at the prospect. Well, as excited as Sam got these days. Had the opportunity of going to Babylon 5 presented itself years ago – before Hell and the Apocalypse and the gazillion messes that had piled upon them – Dean would have gotten more enthusiasm from his brother. Of course, Babylon 5 had not even existed back then. The station had been operational for only three years.

There had been the other Babylon stations. But none of them had been actually used. They had all been destroyed by various accidents. Some said sabotage. Dean- and other hunters as well, too – said curses. There was no point trying to determine which theory was correct. The stations were gone – except for Babylon 4, the predecessor of the current station, which had disappeared mysteriously and then appeared just as mysteriously a year before with its crew intact no less. As for Babylon 5, it showed no signs of falling under any curse so far. There was still time, though.

"Yeah, we're finally going," Dean said at length, "I just hope we can get everything over with before they introduce us to the brig."

"We're gonna have to talk to a lot of people on this one, Dean," Sam pointed out. "Most of them aliens."

Dean made a wide defensive gesture with his arms.

"Hey, I don't have problem with aliens," he claimed. "In fact, have you seen the Centauri chicks? I think some of them are pretty hot. Despite the whole, shaved head thing, of course."

Sam could not resist rolling his eyes at that. He should have expected that kind of answer from his brother.

"All I'm saying is, we have to tread carefully," Sam went on. "Babylon 5 is…well, it's the cradle of diplomacy."

Dean snorted.

"You believe the propaganda, do you, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam frowned. He knew Dean was the type to be sceptical about those things – hell, after all they had been through and after all the faiths they had seen shattered, they both had every right to be. But Sam could not help the fascination he felt for a system that had worked almost flawlessly for about three years and that seemed likely to only improve with time.

Sam noticed that the ship was picking up speed. He looked at Dean questioningly.

"If we're lucky, we're gonna make it there at the same time with the _Asimov _passenger liner," Dean explained. "The place's gonna be packed. They won't have time to double check everyone's ID's."

Sam nodded at that.

"Good thinking," he congratulated.

Dean glanced at Sam, unexpectedly pleased by the praise.

"Why, you seem surprised," he teased. "Didn't think I had it in me, did ya?"

Sam snorted.

"Shut up and fly this thing," was his only comment.

**Babylon 5, Chief of Security's office**

Michael Garibaldi was in a bad mood. Increase of crime in Downbelow did that to a Chief of Security. Crime spikes like that were not exactly uncommon and they usually passed and left a period of calm behind them. They still left an uncomfortable feeling and whenever they came there was also the possibility that the perpetrators might not be satisfied only with harassing those of Downbelow and would turn their attention to the more prominent areas of the station as well. That would, in turn, bring bad publicity to Babylon 5 which was the last thing the station needed. So when Zack Allan came to tell him about another body discovered that morning and sent to Franklin for autopsy, it was understandable why Garibaldi's temper was slightly short.

"So, what do you know about this one?" he demanded bluntly.

Zack was shifting from foot to foot. He looked nervous and reluctant to give his report, which was a bit unlike him. Zack may have had a shady start to his career, but he was an efficient officer who showed a lot of promise. He usually delivered reports without blinking. The fact that he seemed uncomfortable now was like a red flag to Garibaldi.

"Out with it, Zack," he demanded. "I ain't got all day. Were there any witnesses?"

"That's the point," Zack said, eventually, deciding to talk and let the facts speak for themselves. "There were two Lurkers. I'm not really sure how reliable their account is, though."

"Why is that?" Garibaldi wanted to know.

"Well, they say the victim wasn't attacked," Zack stated. "That he just…died, in front of them."

"What, heart attack?" Garibaldi inquired.

Zack shook his head at that, seeming to get even more uncomfortable.

"They said that…they said they saw something coming out of this guy," he admitted in the end. "Some sort of…uh…black smoke."

Garibaldi snorted.

"_Black smoke_?" he repeated.

Zack nodded once to show he himself realised just how ridiculous the whole thing was.

"Or they might have said black fog," he went on. "It was something along those lines, Chief."

Garibaldi frowned.

"Have they somehow got their hands on Londo's secret stash of brivari and drank it all up in one go? You did not believe them, did you?"

If anything, Zack looked even more out of his element.

"That's the point," he stated. "I don't know what to believe. I have no idea how this guy died. Also…there are a few other reports about him."

Garibaldi raised his eyebrows. Now he was getting interested. Zack noticed that and saw it as an indication to go on. He was more confident with that part of the story, anyway. It was more in his line of work than the aforementioned reports.

"Look, Chief," he began, "As far as we know this guy was a nobody who came in here hoping to strike it rich and then was forced to leave in Downbelow when money ran out. That's not an unusual story. It happens here all the time. He wasn't even too sleazy either. Until a week ago that is. Then a couple of alien delegates claimed they caught him ransacking their quarters."

"I remember that," Garibaldi said. "But nothing was stolen, right?"

Zack shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing was _reported _stolen," he corrected. "But I saw one of the ransacked rooms. It was as if the person who did it had been searching for something."

"And there's no way of knowing if he actually found what he was looking for or not," Garibaldi concluded, "Because if it was something secret or smuggled in here the owner was not going to talk about it to security."

"That's right," Zack agreed.

"OK," Garibaldi said. "This is worrying. We'd better look into those potential break-ins. And have Franklin check on our dead guy. Hopefully he's going to come up with something more scientific than black smoke."

Zack nodded and left. Garibaldi shook his head. If there was one thing that could be said about the post of Security Chief on Babylon 5 was that it was never routine. There was always something unusual around the corner. Garibaldi did not know whether to be grateful or to hate it.

"Black smoke," he muttered. "That's how you know you've been doing something too long. I need a day off, that's what I need."


	2. Chapter 1 The Last Best Hope for Peace

**Chapter 1 The last, best hope for peace**

**As stated in the Author Note from the prologue – that very v-e-e-e-r-y long thingy people are likely not to have read ;) – this is an AU story moving the Supernatural events into the Babylon 5 universe – and by universe I mean timeline as well, meaning this is 2259 and Dean and Sam were born at the end of the 2220's, beginning of the 2230's respectively. That's just to clear any eventual confusion :). On another note, Sam and Dean's alias used from this chapter – Parks – comes from Lee Parks, seen in B5's Season 4 **_**Illusions of Truth**_** (an episode I whole-heartedly enjoyed, although it did bring up some uncomfortable cans of worms.).**

**Thank you for everyone who has shown interest in the story.**

**I make no profit out of this, I am in no way associated with Supernatural or Babylon 5.**

The Docking Bay was busy at that hour. The _Asimov _had just arrived with a rowdy group of Earth tourists barely waiting in line and threatening to cause a scene if they were kept at Customs longer than needed. They were all youngsters with parents and uncles holding prominent positions back on Earth. In other words, they were spoiled brats who thought the world should revolve around them and that everyone should bow before them. The idea that they now had to wait instead of just waltzing into the station – with a red carpet placed there just for them too, no doubt – was a foreign and unpleasant one. The officer in charge of entries then knew that quite well. He was also at the end of a long shift and he did not want more hassle than necessary. He therefore cast only a cursory glance at the IDs presented by the two young men who were just ahead of the pampered brats.

"Mr Dean Parks and Mr Sam Parks," he read, then frowned at the name. "Hey, are you guys related to Lee Parks, the one who makes those trivids?"

The two – presumably brothers since they shared the same name – glanced at each other for a moment before the tallest finally nodded.

"Oh, he's…he's a cousin of ours," he confessed nervously.

"We haven't been in touch with him since we were kids, though," the other put in quickly. "Family falling out. Plus we're kinda in the same line of work so we've got a bit of a competition thing going on in there."

The officer raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You don't strike me as the show business type."

The tallest – Sam – gave a low nervous chuckle.

"Yeah, we aren't really," he confessed shamefacedly. "Most of our documentaries are considered a bit…too out there to be known by the general public."

"That's why we're here," Dean completed. "I mean a look at Babylon 5 – that's every journalist's dream."

The security officer looked at the two suspiciously. He wondered whether he should not try for a background check before letting them in. but if they did prove genuine, he would be in for a lot of trouble. Plus, a background check would take too long. The former _Asimov _passengers were getting impatient. Behind them, Londo Mollari was waiting to enter the station. The Centauri Ambassador's nose was wrinkled as if he felt an unpleasant smell. Two of the Earth boys had started singing a lewd song that made a lot of unsavoury comments about Centauri women, seemingly oblivious to who was behind them. The security officer sighed, handing back the brothers' Identicards.

"You boys can go in now," he said. "I'd better get this lot through before they start a diplomatic incident."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Dean told him and stepped aside to let the first of the _Asimov _passenger give his Identicard. "Man," the security officer heard him mutter to his brother, "I do _not _want to be this guy in the following five minutes."

Seeing as the rowdy group was laughing wildly at "how many Vorlons does it take to screw in a light-bulb" and "why did the Markab cross the galaxy" jokes, the security guard was thinking that he did not want to be himself now, either.

Sam and Dean had managed to find themselves a room in the Brown Sector. It was not much, but it was all they could afford. It was much better than other places they had stayed in. Life as a Hunter did not exactly pay well and the two of them had had to deplete almost all their funds to ensure they would manage their stay on Babylon 5. They knew Bobby had cashed in too – how much, the older Hunter had refused to say. It was enough to make Dean think that they owed him big time – which was saying something considering what he thought he and Sam owed Bobby already. Not that Bobby was ever going to see it that way and he would have most certainly knock the both of them over the head, had he known what Dean was thinking.

"We should try talking to some of the smugglers here," Dean suggested. "See if we can get a hold of some Brivari for Bobby."

Sam snorted at that.

"Bobby doesn't drink Brivari," he pointed out. "He says aliens have no notion of what alcoholic beverages should feel like."

"Hey, the Centauri swear by it," Dean said. "Every smuggler I've met does too. All right, so what's the plan?"

"Well, we maintain our cover," Sam said. "We're two brothers, distant cousins of Lee Parks, hoping to strike it rich - or, at least famous – by making an "unofficial, unbiased documentary of Babylon 5"."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Talking like a nerdy idealistic journalist already, Sammy" he chuckled. "I've never thought this role would suit you so well."

"Bite me," Sam deadpanned, having already anticipated Dean's teasing.

"Nah, not me," Dean replied easily. "But I think there might be a few in the Alien Sector of this place who could oblige if you asked them nicely…So, do we even know what we're looking for?"

"Not really," Sam replied thoughtfully. "But that's Cas' fault. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about this whole object we're supposed to be retrieving for him. Although…he did say it was something that offered great power – which is why I'm thinking it's here in the first place."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked interested. "How do you figure that out?"

"We've got representatives of important and not so important alien races coming here by the dozen," Sam pointed out. "Plus we've got humans with agendas of their own. Earth people, Martians, telepaths…hell, any and all could see an object that supposedly offered great power as the answer to all their dreams."

Dean nodded at that. He was beginning to see Sam's reasoning.

"Right," he agreed. "They don't need to know it can cramp an Archangel's style as well or if they do they'd think it's just superstition."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"If they know what an Archangel is in the first place," he pointed out. "I mean if we're talking about someone non-human…they'd be having entirely different beliefs."

Sam paused. A thought had struck him, entirely unrelated to the matter at hand. It was not the first time it had come to him. But being in Babylon 5, it certainly made the thought hit home harder than before.

"I wonder," he began musingly. "If the Apocalypse would have affected alien races as well. I mean, they don't even believe in angels or heaven or hell…as we know it."

Dean huffed at that. Having Sam thinking about anything even remotely related to hell these days was a hazardous thing. Nor did he find any real benefit to that line of thought anyway. The Apocalypse had not happened. So why did they have to ask themselves now who would have or wouldn't have been affected by it?

"You think too much," he chided. "You'll hurt yourself and I'm not even kiddin' this time."

Sam shook himself out of his previous musings and strove to put on a confident face.

"Got it," he said. "Focus on the work, right?"

Dean examined Sam carefully. His brother seemed all right – but seeming and actually being were two very different things. As for the all right part, Dean could hardly remember how that really felt, and he supposed neither of them had been even close to all right for a very long while.

"I think we should try tracking this thing down," was all that Dean said in the end. "And since we've got zero on how to actually start I think we should start simple. So I'm gonna try blending in the social life of B5. I'll hit some bars and try making friends with the natives. If something hinky's going on, I'll know."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed. "I think I'll join the tour the passengers of that liner will be taking round the station."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You wanna join the douchebag tour?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"It's gonna help me find my way around the station afterwards. And I'll also find out who the major players are around here. We're gonna have to talk to them, Dean. One of them might have what we're looking for."

"If so, we're gonna have a hell of a time convincing them to give it to us," Dean mumbled darkly.

"Well, we're not there yet," Sam reminded him. "So you go do your thing and I'll do mine. Meet you back here in a couple of hours, right?"

"Awesome," Dean replied, "Be careful."

**Medlab**

Garibaldi strode purposely into medlab. He found Doctor Stephen Franklin at his desk, going over some reports.

"Is that autopsy I've asked for ready, Doc?" Garibaldi asked.

"Ah, Michael," Franklin greeted, getting up. "I was just about to call you. Yes, it's done."

"Tell me you've got a cause of death," Garibaldi pleaded.

"His heart stopped." Franklin deadpanned. "That's all I can say."

Garibaldi huffed, shaking his head.

"His heart stopped," he repeated. "I could have told you that myself. Hell, those in Downbelow who saw him die could have told you that. What I needed was a reason for it stopping."

Franklin shrugged his shoulders.

"I wish I could give you one," he confessed. "But I found nothing: no physical trauma, no illness, no toxic substances….at least…well, this is rather strange…"

Franklin hesitated. Garibaldi, however, urged him to go on.

"Strange is good," he pointed out. "I'd take strange right about now. What is it, Doc?"

"I found small traces of sulphur on his face," Franklin answered. "Not enough to kill him but it still does not explain how he came into contact with it."

Garibaldi frowned.

"Sulphur?" he repeated. "And you think that's relevant?"

"Actually, I just think it's odd," Franklin admitted. "And it's also odd that I don't have a cause of death, either."

"Do you think we should inform the captain" Garibaldi asked. "I mean, could we be dealing with a…I don't know – a weird sulphur infection."

Stephen raised his eyebrows at the way Garibaldi had phrased it.

"I think for now we can consider this just an isolated incident," he said at length. "But I'll do some digging. See if I can find a connection between sulphur and the black smoke your lurkers described. Of course, it could be tied to whatever he was doing in those delegates' quarters. It's not the first time someone got dangerous things on board the station. But finding those isn't my department, Michael."

Garibaldi nodded quickly. He had taken the hint.

"I've got it," he said. "It's mine. Well, I see what I can do, Doc. You try to find out what you can on your end. Something smells rotten here."

"That could be the sulphur," Stephen deadpanned, his lips quirking up.

A few hours after the two brothers had split up to pursue separate lines of investigation, Dean walked back to his quarters to find Sam already there, sitting on his bed and watching an ISN documentary. Further examination told Dean that it was a special news report about Babylon 5, that had been filmed a week before.

"Oh, hey," Sam said when Dean walked in. "You're back early."

"So are you," Dean retorted. "Pampered douches too much for you?"

Sam snorted tiredly.

"Boy, if I was ever sorry for stopping the Apocalypse…" he muttered. "And to think they're supposed to be the future of Earth society. I'm thinking of asking the Drazi for political exile."

In response Dean handed his brother something wrapped in foiled paper. Sam looked at it questioningly.

"Dinner," Dean replied. "You get melodramatic on an empty stomach."

Sam eyed the foiled package warily without opening it yet.

"Do I wanna know where you got it?" he inquired wryly.

"Well, there was this Pak'ma'ra in the Zocalo…" Dean began, unable to resist. "He said it used to be someone's cat, and he swore by it." Then, seeing Sam's frown, he laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry, Sammy, you can find pretty decent food on Babylon 5 if you know where to look. Now eat up and asked me how my day was."

"How _was _your day?" Sam played along, knowing his brother was bound to lead him on for quite a while if he resisted. "Found anything?"

"Get this," Dean began. "There was this death in Downbelow - which apparently shouldn't be big news only they say this guy shouldn't have been dead."

"Why not?" Sam asked, starting to feel interested.

"Cause he just died suddenly, that's why," Dean went on. "And do you want to know something else? Several witnesses said there was black smoke coming out of him right before he died."

Sam's face grew grave.

"You're thinking demon?" he inquired. "Here?"

"Why not?" Dean said. "It's not like he had to announce what he was and anyway, isn't this the neutral zone free-for-all ultimate diplomatic station? I'm thinking some idealistic egghead could argue even a demon has every right to be here and be left alone."

"I don't think it works quite that way," Sam said thoughtfully. "And, you think it has to do with whatever Cas sent us for?"

"What else could it be?" Dean pointed out. "And that's not even all. I've done some more digging – and I heard some rumours. Apparently the dead guy was wanted by security because they suspected him of breaking into some bigwig alien delegates' quarters"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You think the demon made him break in to search for that weapon?"

If it was a weapon. Sam could not get over the fact that they still had no idea what exactly they were looking for. In his opinion, finding that out should have been high on their list of priorities.

"It ties in to what you said before," Dean mused. "About the object being capable of offering all kinds of advantages which would make it a desirable asset for all the diplomats and delegates and whatever other kind of politicians out here."

Sam nodded at that. But something about that theory did not seem to make sense to him. And by the pensive look on his brother's face, Sam knew he was not the only one.

"What's bothering you, Dean?" he asked.

"I don't understand," Dean confessed. "If the demon suspected one of the alien delegates had this thing, why jump some poor bastard lurker and force him to break into their quarters to search for it? Why not just possess the delegates?"

"Maybe he couldn't," Sam theorized.

In all their long career as hunters, they had never encountered any cases of aliens being possessed by demons. As far as Sam knew, no other hunter had, either. There had been rumours at some point about a Pak'ma'ra going berserk and many in the hunting community had said it had to have been demon possession. But no one could prove it and Sam himself really had problems with that theory. Dean believed it, though. Dean – just like their father had done – had claimed countless of times that race and planet of origin could not matter when it came to demons. It was one of the few instances, their dad had once said, when they were all equal. And Dean seemed about to remind Sam of that now.

"Let me tell you something," Sam said, "I know what you want to say, but listen for a moment. I've been thinking a long time about this – about how there might be something in an alien mind that could…I don't know, make it less vulnerable to possession. Maybe it's even conscious - some sort of…defence mechanism, if you like. I always thought that made sense."

Dean frowned.

"Why?" he asked. "And when did you come up with that one?"

Sam bit his lips, hesitating.

"At college," he replied in the end. "That's when I started thinking seriously about it, at least."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"What, I doubt you were taught alien possession theories at that fancy school of yours," he remarked sceptically.

Sam huffed.

"Well, no, I wasn't," he admitted. "We were not talking about alien possessions, we were talking about alien minds. And it was not a class. No teacher would have risked talking about such things out front."

Dean shifted to face Sam.

"All right," he admitted. "You've got me interested. What exactly were you talking about and when?"

Sam stood for a while silent as if gathering his thoughts.

"It was a bunch of us, really," he began. "Jess…and a couple of her friends who met regularly and talked about how certain things in society could be different – you know, how Earth Gov treats the colonies, the Mars riots, a few more questionable dealings with other species, like what happened to start the Minbari war and all that. Not the kind of thing I'd be inclined to talk to you and as for Dad – he would have had my head for half of the opinions we put up in that group."

"OK, that sounds like you," Dean conceded, "What does this have to do with alien minds?"

"Jess had an older sister," Sam said quietly. "She had entered Psi Corps the year before Jess and I started dating. By enter of course I mean she was revealed as a telepath and Psi Corps didn't give her much choice. Well, you've heard the stories."

Dean nodded slowly, indicating for Sam to go on. He still did not see too much of a connection with their previous conversation, but he knew Sam had a point and that he was going to get to it eventually. And since this was about a difficult period for Sam to remember, the least Dean could do was let him talk it over in his own time.

"Anyway, Psi Corps was a big issue in our meetings," Sam went on. "You can guess. We even thought about starting petitions, you know, gathering signatures to have them at least relax some of their rules. Let telepaths get in touch with their families once in a while." Sam paused and chuckled bitterly. "As if a bunch of scribbles from a few students here and there were going to make any kind of difference to an organisation like Psi Corps…Sorry, I'm…I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Just a bit," Dean admitted indulgently.

Sam snorted.

"Right, a bit," he repeated, "Anyway, Jess told us about her sister at one of those meetings. She said she'd been good at hiding from people that she was a telepath for quite a while. Only her family knew. But then she accidentally scanned a Drazi and apparently went berserk after that. Of course that drew attention and the next day Psi Corps was on her doorstep. Anyway, before leaving she told Jess that the reason she broke down like that was because that Drazi mind was unlike anything she had encountered before. It was different. It was like something unfriendly was trying to keep her out. Which is what got me thinking about how alien minds must have some kind of defence mechanisms to protect them from telepaths and that maybe these mechanisms could work for possessions as well."

Sam looked at Dean questioningly. The latter was not saying anything nor was he giving away anything that he might have been thinking about Sam's theory.

"I know it's a longshot and kinda far-fetched," Sam confessed. "But in hindsight it did make sense when I first thought about it."

"No, I don't know, there might be something to it," Dean admitted. "I mean, I know what Dad used to say and I won't say I still don't agree with him, but there really hasn't been a proven case of a possessed alien, so I'll give you that."

Sam nodded. If he was to be honest with himself, though, now that he had told his long-ago formed theory to Dean, he thought he could find a lot of loopholes in it, if he thought better. He was surprised Dean had not seen them yet. Usually his brother was an expert at spotting loopholes and pointing them out to Sam with a sometimes frustrating amount of glee. There was nothing of that now, though. In fact, Dean looked faintly concerned. Well, Sam should not have been surprised. He had just mentioned Stanford and Jess, after all. He did not do that often.

"So," Dean began hesitatingly, confirming Sam's suspicions, "Ummm…how come you never told me about Jess' sister before?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"What's to tell? I never met her. She was just a story. I know a couple of our friends tried to contact her when Jess died, right before the funeral. From what I heard later, they managed to get a hold of her mentor or handler or whatever you call them at Psi Corps. The dude said he'd tell her about Jess, but she wasn't there at the funeral. I used to wonder if she even knew her sister was dead, or if, after all that time at Psi Corps, she even, you know, cared. You're familiar with their motto: _The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father_. She must have had plenty of brothers and sisters there."

Dean did not reply to that. While he usually professed not to care to much about the non-supernatural events in the world, there were things that even he could not brush aside. Psi Corps was one of those things. He had never said that to anyone, but the very existence of the organisation made his skin crawl.

"Man, that's messed up," he commented in the end. "The world's already screwed to hell and beyond a thousand times over. And then people come and screw it up some more."

Dean shook himself. They had ventured seriously off-topic and had reached a dangerously gloomy territory. While he did not mind to allow Sam to indulge in such discussions once in a very long while, they still had a job to do.

"So, what about you?" he asked casually. "What have you been doing with yourself while I was busy finding things out?"

"I was finding things out," Sam deadpanned, his demeanour quickly shifting from moody to business-like. "Thanks to the tour I know my way around the station well enough. I've also heard a few stories about the major players in this place and with the help of our cover story, I think I can even get some to talk to us."

"Really?" Dean inquired.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "I managed to get some appointments. I don't know how one goes about reaching Kosh and the Narn Ambassador is currently off station. But I did track down the diplomatic attachés to Centauri Prime and Minbar and I got us appointments with Ambassadors Londo Mollari and Delenn first thing in the morning."

"Good job," Dean praised. "Why don't you tackle Londo Mollari then and I'll try my luck with the Minbari."

Sam nodded distractedly. He stopped mid gesture, though, casting Dean a suspicious look.

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

"How come you get to take the female ambassador while I'm stuck with the little guy with the funny hair?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

Dean chuckled.

"I've had four years in advance to claim that privilege, little brother. What can I say, Sammy? You should have been born earlier. And anyway, each with their own set of skills. You're good at tackling grumpy politicians and I…well, I work better with the ladies."

"Yeah, right," Sam muttered. "Just remember our ambassador is a member of the Minbari Religious Caste. So try to be a little less…"

"Libidinous?" Dean provided helpfully.

"I was going to say forward," Sam confessed. "But yours works better."


	3. Chapter 2 More questions

**Chapter 2 More questions**

**Thanks for those showing interest in this little thing. To establish something, in the **_**Babylon 5 **_**timeline this would go in Season 2 after **_**In the Shadow of Z'ha'dum **_**but before **_**Confessions and Lamentations (for obvious reasons which will be shown in this chapter)**_**. As you all know, I have no rights over either show and I am not profiting in any way, shape or form from this.**

**Ambassador Londo Mollari's quarters**

Londo had woken up that morning feeling irritated. He was aware that a lot of those who professed to know him would have declared that was his usual state of mind. Since the start of the war with Narn, Londo had actually started to agree with them. Irritation was really becoming part of his daily routine. It was strange, really. His people were once more set up on the road to victory and a grand destiny and Londo had wanted that. Moreover, it had been Londo himself who had facilitated it, something that he had also longed for. Londo's own influence back home was growing, he was now in high favour at the court and with the new emperor – yet another of his wishes coming true. And yet, despite all that, all Londo could feel at times was an impeding sense of doom. Too bad that when Mr Morden had very seriously asked that first time _What do you want?_ Londo had not thought of analysing what the consequences of his desires could be. Or maybe he had been fully aware of the consequences and had wanted all those things anyway. Londo was not too sure right then.

Speaking of Mr Morden, the latter was slowly becoming yet another annoyance on Londo's long list of irritations great and small. True, he was still useful – while the war with Narn went on he and his allies could still help – and, if Londo was to be honest the man scared him a bit. And that was the reason why Londo had not turned down Morden's unannounced visit at the start of a day that was already teeming with appointments.

"I am sorry I cannot be with you too long, though," Londo had pointed out anyway. "I have an appointment in half an hour. Some pesky Earth journalist or something of that kind. I would not have agreed to yet another interview, but Vir Cotto, my attaché is apparently fascinated by the breed."

"Your attaché is fascinated by humans?" Morden inquired with polite interest.

"No, Mr Morden," Londo corrected. "By journalists. Now what can I do for you?"

Londo had noticed from the start that Morden looked slightly on edge himself. It was a look the Centauri would have never associated with the mysterious human. Perhaps it had to do with Captain Sheridan. Londo had heard the Captain had had Morden under arrest for some reason or another. Whatever it was, it must have boiled over somehow. After all, Morden was still free and still on the station, although he seemed to be keeping a low profile as far as Captain Sheridan was concerned.

"I'll be direct, Ambassador," Morden began. "There is something on this station that might be very tempting to you and that might very well be offered to you – if it hasn't been offered already. I'm talking about a piece of jewellery - a talisman of unknown origins. Are you familiar with what I'm talking about?"

Londo tilted his head.

"Should I be?" he replied vaguely.

"No," Mr Morden replied categorically. "You _shouldn't_. If anyone approaches you to offer you such a thing, Ambassador, you're to say no, regardless of what they claim it can supposedly grant you."

Londo raised his eyebrows. So far Morden had presented himself as completely amiable and eager to comply with any of Londo's demands. He had, at the same time, made no demands for himself. And yet here he was literally ordering Londo. It made Mollari completely intrigued and curious.

"Oh?" he asked. "And tell me, Mr Morden, why should I listen to this little demand of yours?"

Morden's eyes glinted dangerously. It was at times like these that Londo realised that despite the other's polite and almost servile attitude, Morden made him uncomfortable.

"Because I say so," Morden stated coldly. "Because _my associates _say so. Simply put, Ambassador, that talisman has certain…ties, shall we call them. My associates do not want anyone even remotely involved with them to have anything to do with that object."

Londo was about to protest. He was not really interested in whatever Morden was talking about. He had not been offered any talisman yet and so he could not tell whether he would have wanted to accept or not. Nonetheless, Morden was pressuring him, telling him what he should and should not accept. And Londo was a Centauri. He did not respond well to that kind of intimidation. He was about to protest when Vir Cotto walked in, followed by a tall human who stopped by the door uncertainly when he noticed Londo was already entertaining company.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ambassador, I didn't know you were not alone," Vir began sounding flustered. "But, you see, Mr Parks does have an appointment and…and as I did not know Mr Morden was still here I invited Mr Parks in."

Londo huffed impatiently. Vir was, to put it crudely, protesting too much. He always got flustered and started rambling on and on when he was trying to be even a little bit dishonest. In truth, Vir had known very well that Morden was still with Londo. As a matter of fact, his decision to let Mr Parks in had been based on the fact that he wanted Mr Morden out. It was no secret that Vir felt an almost visceral hatred for Morden – which was rather strange as, until recently, Londo had thought hatred was simply not in Vir Cotto's genes.

One thing, though, had been true in Vir's tirade. The tall young man did have an appointment with Londo. The appointment had been set up by Vir, most likely because the diplomatic attaché was still working on learning how to say no to unreasonable requests. Or maybe Vir was trying to cut the time Londo spend with Morden or with Refa, discussing the war with Narn. Again, it was no secret that Vir thought Londo was on a direct route to perdition. It was no secret that Londo thought that about himself as well.

"That is all right, Vir," Londo said, effectively interrupting his attaché. "Mr Morden has just warned me against purchasing some sort of talisman as he called it and now he was just leaving. Right, Mr Morden?"

Londo noticed that the newcomer's eyebrows went up at the mention of a talisman. For an instant Londo took it as a warning. Then, he dismissed the thought just as quickly. No doubt the Earther was curious and nothing more. Londo had heard that Earthers considered anything "alien" as outrageously bizarre. No doubt somebody discussing a talisman seriously with an ambassador would be considered just as unusual. At any rate, Morden had given no hint that he recognised the guest – and Londo had decided that was a good enough sign to pay attention to.

"Yes, I was just leaving, Ambassador," Morden said quickly. "Please take my warnings under consideration. You know my associates and I only wish for your people's well-being."

Vir mumbled something not too flattering that implied a direct correlation between the Centauri's well-being and Mr Morden being sent to a very unpleasant place. Londo decided he would reprimand his attaché for his lack of diplomacy when they were not having company. Morden turned to leave. As he headed towards the door he passed Sam and could not help casting him a curious, assessing look. Sam returned the look with a puzzled one of his own, then turned to Londo.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, Ambassador," he said quickly. "Your diplomatic aide said it was all right to come in."

Londo waved the apology aside. In truth, he felt slightly depressed by Morden's visit and the subsequent conversation and longed for some distraction.

"That is all right, Mr Parks," he said. "Vir was right, you did have an appointment."

"And Mr…Morden?" Sam asked curiously.

"He is different," Londo said curtly.

"Oh, I see," Sam said quickly. "I'm sorry if I inadvertently touched upon some delicate political matter. That's not why I am here."

Londo raised his eyebrows.

"Oh no?" he asked shrewdly. "The other reporter was only bent on finding out as many _delicate political matters _as possible. Correct me if I am wrong, Mr Parks, but I had the impression that your people do like a juicy scandal sprinkled with a touch of political intrigue. Not that I blame them. We Centauri are just the same. You are among equals, as we say, Mr Parks so you should make yourself comfortable. Perhaps I should have Vir get you some brivari?"

"No thank you," Sam refused. "And please – call me Sam. Regarding Mr Morden – I did not know you had that close dealings with Earth."

Sam could feel that somehow Morden was a viable lead. He had mentioned something about a talisman. He had come to warn Londo against getting it. Sam had no idea how or what right the unknown Morden had to impose his will on a foreign ambassador. All he knew was that the talisman could be exactly what him and Dean had come looking for. And, if it really was an object that offered great power and influence, he had heard a thing or two about Londo Mollari to know why someone would think selling such an object to the Centauri would be a sure thing.

Londo's face darkened at the mention of his relationship with Morden. Of course, the young man in front of him could have absolutely no idea what that actually was – and even if he had known, he would still not understand what had prompted Londo to accept Morden's help. But Londo was tired of keeping his guard up. He could pretend all day that he had got what he wanted. The truth still remained that he sometimes found himself entangled in a web that could never be broken. And he could not help wondering with almost detached curiosity if his visitor had any idea how that felt.

"I wish my dealings with Morden to remain off the record," he said firmly.

"Certainly," Sam said quickly. "You have my word."

Londo did not seem too impressed.

"You have this look about you, Mr Parks," he began, not addressing the young man by his first name as the other had politely requested. "You know, that eager to do the right thing against all costs look. You might be surprised to hear that I understand something about that. All my life I've spent trying to do what is right and what is best. But what I am sure you are too young to understand is that sometimes doing what you think is right can lead you on a very dark road."

Sam did not say anything. He wondered what Londo was referring to. There were rumours about him. Many on Earth had begun by ridiculing him but ever since the Centauri war with Narn Londo Mollari's name was becoming more and more influential. Sam had heard that some were frightened of him, as if the Centauri had turned into an unstable element, someone bent on doing things his way that it made him almost fanatical. And with that Sam was very familiar.

It was ironic, really, but Sam understood more than Londo would ever know about thinking you were doing the right thing and dark roads. He almost told Londo, but he still managed to stop himself in time. To Londo Mollari he was Sam Parks, he reminded himself, aspiring documentary writer. Young Sam Parks had no way of knowing anything of what Londo was saying. Sam Winchester, though, knew more than enough. As a matter of fact, Sam Winchester could have perhaps given even Ambassador Londo Mollari a few lessons about dark roads and doing things his way. Maybe it was not too late for Londo to turn back from whatever path he had taken.

It was strange and Dean was surely going to laugh at Sam if he ever mentioned it to his brother, but Sam had immediately felt some sort of connection with the Centauri Ambassador. It was hard to explain, but there was something in Londo's mannerism that spoke about how in over his head he was and how he was already contemplating his own dark destiny. Sam knew the look of one who was about to break the world quite well.

Sam tried firmly to put such thoughts away from his mind. He knew they could lead him on a dangerous road and he could not afford revisiting old memories at the moment. Dean would not have it if he had the Wall in his mind broken in the Centauri Ambassador's quarters. Actually, it was safe to say Dean would not have it if he had the Wall broken period, regardless of where he was when he did that.

Yet Sam knew he could use one thing from his line of reasoning – wacky as it was. Londo Mollari was on a dangerous road – for whatever reason. He wanted something and somehow he seemed to be depending on the mysterious Morden for that something. While the interaction Sam had witnessed between Mollari and Londo had been brief, it had been enough to tell Sam that Morden somehow had the Centauri Ambassador in his sway. There was also the reaction that Londo's attaché had to Morden. Sam had heard the underlying tension in Vir's voice when he had found Morden with his employer. He had also heard loud and clear the until then so polite Vir Cotto wishing Mr Morden a speedy journey to hell. That did not leave much room for interpretation.

And, if Londo really was in Mr Morden's clutches and if Mr Morden had warned him against accepting the talisman – whatever that was but Sam was willing to bet it was what Cas had sent them to look for – Londo would most likely obey – for now at least. In the meantime, Sam only had to find out as much about Londo as he could. If the Centauri really was a likely candidate for that talisman, then Sam would perhaps find out what else that talisman could do apart from supposedly being a weapon against an Archangel. And that would narrow things down when it came to finding it.

"So, Ambassador," he began cheerfully. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

**Ambassador Delenn's quarters**

Dean was allowed to see the Minbari Ambassador as soon as he arrived. Her diplomatic attaché had let him in and then had left the two alone, presumably going to take care of his own duties. Dean was sort of glad he had one Minbari the less to deal with, although he secretly regretted not sending Sam to do this interview. He somehow thought he would have had an easier time with the Centauri Ambassador. At least the Centauri had never unleashed their furry on Earth as the Minbari had, eleven years before.

Dean, like most Hunters, had never been one to care much about political winds and daily events in the world at large. Knowing as he did the evils with which both humans and aliens shared the universe without even being aware of it put a lot of things into perspective. Hunters generally viewed political conflicts differently, taking them into account only as far as they affected the job. Wars and revolutions were a source of vengeful spirits and restless ghosts and bloodthirsty monsters and Hunters usually got involved in them after they had already ended. That was when their job truly began – like some sort of supernatural damage control. None of them got involved actively in conflicts while they were still taking place. Nor did they feel much of an inclination to do so.

The Minbari-Earth war eleven years before had been an entirely different matter. Dean knew a lot of Hunters who had enrolled in the war, claiming that was the greater threat at the time. Dean knew, in fact, that if his father had not been effectively on the run, he would have enrolled too. Dean could not blame him. He had felt inclined to do so himself.

Even if most Hunters had not been actively involved in the war, they had still been strongly opinionated about it. Dean still remembered how, during those three years, talk in covert Hunter establishment was the same as talk everywhere on Earth. Few discussed monsters and demons then as often as they discussed Minbari. Many of them had thought anyway that the Minbari were not so far from monsters or demons themselves. And those that voiced this opinion out loud were not contradicted.

Well, that was not exactly true. Sam had contradicted them. Dean could clearly remember one evening in a bar when they had met a few Hunters – many of them good friends with Dad and Bobby. They had been talking about the Minbari and someone had mentioned how the entire reason behind the war was of the death of a Minbari leader by a human. It was the general consensus that the idea of unleashing vengeance on an entire species for the action of just one representative was absurd. Such personal vendettas were wrong. And that was when Sam had stepped in.

So far, Sam had said little. Whether because he had not wanted to tarnish his brother and father's reputation by voicing views he knew would be frowned upon, or simply because he had thought there was no point in trying to convince the narrow-minded, Dean still did not remember. Perhaps, judging from how Sam had been at the time, resentful and already planning his escape to college, the second reason was more likely. But whatever had held him back could apparently do so no longer. When he heard the opinion about how one could not punish an entire species for a personal vendetta, Sam had asked innocently if there was actually anyone at that table who was _not _doing that at the moment. Weren't they going after the supernatural because they wanted revenge for some particular reason? Were they, in the ultimate scheme of things, so different from the Minbari? And did they, with all they had done, have any right to judge how the Minbari grieved and avenged their wrongs?

Dean could still remember vividly the icy silence that had at the table after Sam's words. Sam had started being persona non grata with many Hunters from then on. Dad had not spoken to Sam for two whole weeks after the incident and this time Dean had joined him.

Sam had never discussed that evening with Dean. After all that had happened, Dean wondered if his brother even remembered it. From what Sam had hinted the day before, he had found others in college who had apparently shared his views. Still, Dean had to wonder what Sam thought of his previous opinions now. He knew his brother's idealism had been greatly tempered in recent years. But then again, so had Dean's own brand of self-righteousness. He still felt uncomfortable around the Minbari, but there was nothing of the previous intolerance. He was willing to have a discussion with their ambassador to Babylon 5, if that helped to move things forward. At any rate, Dean did not even know what part, if any, Ambassador Delenn had had in the war. Nor was he going to ask. That would only alienate her.

There was also the fact that many wondered whether the ambassador was really Minbari right now – and that was another piece of news that people had been discussing so much that Dean found it hard to ignore it. The ambassador had altered her appearance – how Dean had no idea and he was not really interested in whatever scientific theories others had - that was more in Sam's line than his – in order to look more human. She had claimed it had been a gesture good-will and an apology of some kind. Dean had no idea how that went and he was not really sure he bought it anyway. But it made Dean interested. Whatever reason Delenn might have had for doing that – personal, political, or whatever – her actions told Dean she was the type to go to great lengths to get what she wanted. Which made Dean wonder what else she would be willing to try if it was advantageous for her cause. More to the point, would she be willing to acquire an obscure object that guaranteed great power – among other things?

"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Ambassador," Dean began.

"You do not have to mention it," Delenn said. "But I gathered from my attaché that there were two of you."

"Oh yeah," Dean replied. "My brother – Sam – he's the one who actually made the appointment. He's talking to Ambassador Londo Mollari right now. He kinda drew the short straw."

Delenn tilted her head puzzled.

"He did what?" she inquired.

Oh great, Dean thought. He had meant it to come as flattering. But, it seemed, if he wanted to use flattery, he would have to be less colloquial in his attempts.

"He agreed to take the interview with Ambassador Mollari and allow me the pleasure of your company, Ambassador," he clarified.

Now Delenn was looking amused. Dean was beginning more and more to regret that Sam was not there. He was sure Londo would have been easier to deal with.

"You must understand that to many on Earth the Minbari hold a certain…fascination I suppose," Dean began, trying a different road. "We want to learn more about them."

"Do you?" Delenn asked wistfully. "That was not the impression I gathered from the ISN reporter a few weeks ago. According to her my people are apparently still on trial for a war that has ended eleven years ago."

"It was a pretty bad war, Ambassador," Dean could not refrain from pointing out.

Delenn did not contradict him like Dean thought she would be bound to. She had not jumped to the defence of her people or tried to justify the war by saying that technically the humans had struck the first blow. In some strange way that felt almost like a tacit agreement.

"The thing is," Dean went on, "Because those of Earth know so little about your people, it makes them think instantly about the war when the Minbari are mentioned. They do not have anything else to associate them with. Now take the Centauri, for example. We know quite a lot about them since they're so forthcoming and all – or, at least, they pretend to be so. And maybe we can give people something else to think about regarding the species that we don't know much about yet – you know, the things they like, the things they believe in, their legends and so on."

"Maybe their own perception of humans?" Delenn prompted.

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"Sure," he accepted, "Why not?"

"You fascinate me," Delenn declared all of a sudden.

Dean raised his eyebrows. Now _that _he had never expected to hear when he had walked into the room.

"Me personally or the human race in general?" he wanted to know.

"Both actually, Mr…Parks, I think Lennier said your name was, wasn't it?"

There was something about the way Delenn had asked about his name that put Dean immediately on the alert. He nodded slowly to confirm her query but he knew Delenn had not really been asking for confirmation.

"Humans have some amazing traits," Delenn went on thoughtfully. "Both good and bad. Whatever they do, they do it in a way that makes them visible to other races. They cannot be ignored. Did you know, for example, that when aliens talk about other species, humans are their favorite topic of conversation? The Brakiri for example, they have a very interesting legend. They talk about an unusual group of humans who travel the galaxy in search of restless spirits and monsters – the Brakiri say they call themselves Hunters. Are you familiar with this myth, Mr. Parks?"

Dean kept his face deliberately blank. He shook his head carelessly. Meanwhile, the gears were turning inside his head. Why had Delenn mentioned Hunters to him? The way she had brought them into the conversation, it only seemed accidental, like a coincidence – as if she had no idea she was actually talking to a Hunter. But Dean had never been one for coincidences and he had already established that Delenn was the kind of person who did nothing without a clear reason. Had she said all that just to show Dean she was on to him? If so, what did she intend to do?

But it appeared that Delenn was going to do nothing so far. She did not even intend to continue the conversation.

"I am sorry, Mr Parks, but I am afraid I will have to terminate our talk," she announced briskly. "The Advisory Council is meeting in two hours and I have notes to prepare until then. If you and your brother wish to tell me anything, feel free to contact me again."

It was a clear invitation for Dean to go and he had no choice but to take it. If he was to be honest with himself, he did not feel too sorry for having to leave. The meeting had made him uncomfortable enough and he wanted to go somewhere quiet to think about whatever the Minbari Ambassador knew about him and Sam and how much her apparent knowledge of who they were changed things. He got up quickly and headed for the door. He stopped briefly, as if thinking about asking Delenn about the purpose of her questions. Then he changed his mind and simply left.

Delenn was on her way to the Council Chamber when a Markab approached her. She shook her head impatiently. She was not surprised by the Markab. She had been expecting him. But the fact that he sought her out still irritated her.

"I have heard the Ambassador had a visitor early this morning," the Markab said. "One of the ones I warned you about."

"I wonder," Delenn said. "I tried to mention a few of the things you told me. He did not appear to know what I was talking about. If I did not know better, I would say that you were mistaken."

The Markab frowned.

"He was lying," he declared.

"Oh, quite likely," Delenn accepted calmly. "What I do not understand is why you have come to me with this. Why not go to your own ambassador?"

The Markab hesitated. Delenn stopped walking and waited patiently for the other to answer her. She was going to be late to the Council if she did not hurry. But somehow, the matter that the Markab had presented her with had piqued her curiosity more than she was willing to admit.

"My government does not like it when our people make use of certain…resources," the Markab said at length. "The need to ask Hunters for help is…scandalous for a pious member of society. Evil stalks only those who have done something to deserve it. The righteous do not need outside protection from it. And these Earth Hunters – they are tainted. They bring bad luck. But let me tell you something, Ambassador. If these two are who I think they are – then they're the worst of the lot. Even their own kind – other Hunters – even they shun these two. Bad luck and death and darkness beyond our wildest dreams, Ambassador – that is what follows them wherever they go."

Delenn did not seem too impressed by the Markab's diatribe. She frowned slightly.

"Has it ever occurred to you," she began reasonably, "that you might have got it backwards? That maybe this bad luck and darkness you describe are actually a cause of them being in a place and not the result?"

But the Markab was not in the mood for reasonable arguments.

"A word of advice, Ambassador Delenn," he said, "Talk to the Brakiri. They use Hunters too. They even pay Hunters for their services. They would be more open to talk. And when you do, mention to them the name Winchester and see how they react."

The Markab left, obviously dissatisfied with how the dialogue had gone. Delenn stood watching him depart, thinking she might very well do what he had suggested.


	4. Chapter 3 Investigations

**Chapter 3 Investigations**

**Next chapter. Thank you very much for the interest and support.**

**I am not affiliated with any of those who own Babylon 5 and Supernatural and I'm not making any profit from this.**

**Earhart**

Next day, while having breakfast with Susan Ivanova and the doctor, Garibaldi decided to approach Franklin about the progress of his research.

"So, found anything in the end, Doc?" he wanted to know.

"A lot of hokum," Franklin replied, without taking his attention from his meal.

"Right about now I would take even hokum if it gives me a cause of death for our guy," Garibaldi confessed. "So give."

Franklin was silent for a few moments. He stood chewing thoughtfully. He finished his bite deliberately slow, then set his fork on the table.

"Look," he began, "The only thing I could find linking sulphur with unexplained death and the black smoke Mr Allen's eyewitnesses claim they saw is just as I said: hokum. There are a few urban legends about sulphur being apparently linked to demon possession."

Ivanova rolled her eyes at Franklin's somewhat reluctant pronouncement.

"It's going to be one of _those_ days, then," she muttered.

Franklin chuckled, shaking his head.

"Hey, did I actually say I believed it?" he defended himself. "I'm just reporting my findings as the good Chief of Security asked me to. Mind you, that doesn't mean that somebody who knew the legends didn't make this guy's death seem related to demon possession."

"What, you mean like some sort of ritual?" Garibaldi inquired.

Franklin shrugged.

"I wasn't trained to solve crimes, Michael," Franklin reminded him mildly. "I just practice medicine."

Garibaldi snorted. He took the hint.

"Right. Well, from what Zack was telling me, our victim broke into the quarters of three alien travellers. I had him search what these travellers had in common – they were different species and had different backgrounds. Now apparently, they all saw vendors in the Zocalo."

Ivanova looked at Garibaldi sceptically. She did not see that particular discovery as such a big lead.

"Everyone here sees vendors in the Zocalo," she pointed out reasonably. "Even you do."

Garibaldi inclined his head accepting Ivanova's point.

"Yeah, but how many of us go to vendors of "deeply symbolic objects, talismans of power and important religious artefacts of various cultures"?" Garibaldi asked. "At least that's what one of the vendors advertises his business. But you get the idea."

"What kind of religious artefacts?" Franklin wanted to know. "From Earth?"

"From all over," Garibaldi corrected. "All three vendors had newly-acquired merchandise of human origin when the alien delegates had visited them, though. One of them – a Markab – said he had one of the most powerful objects in the world."

Both Ivanova and Franklin snickered.

"I've heard that one before," Ivanova said. "It's called the _let's-impress-the-easily-influenced-and-make-them-pay-a-fortune-for-an-insignificant-bauble _manoeuvre. I thought a man with your experience would spot it."

"Did you buy it?" Franklin could not help asking. "The most powerful object in the universe, do you have it on you?"

"That's hilarious," Garibaldi snapped. "I know about scammers. I don't doubt the Markab was one too. But maybe someone was easily fooled. Maybe someone really believes in this stuff."

"And decides what?" Franklin inquired. "To commit murder and make it look like demon possession? To what end?"

Garibaldi had to admit that Franklin was right. There was no motive for anyone acting the way it did. Unless someone was trying to send a message. Not to Garibaldi and the security, because they could not have understood it and even if they had, they would have scoffed at it. The message was for someone else, someone who could get the implications and even believe them. In other words, there were other wackos on the station.

"I hate it when they're crazy," Garibaldi muttered. "Give me a good old-fashioned Dust smuggler or a weapons dealer or a hired assassin. These I can understand. These I have no problem catching. The crazy ones, though, that's completely different."

**McBurry's**

Dean was on edge. He had been so since his talk with the Minbari Ambassador the previous day. After Delenn had all but told him that she knew he was not Dean Parks and she knew he was not doing a documentary and then had promptly mentioned Brakiri legends and Hunters out of the blue, Dean had decided the best course of action was for him and Sam to lay low in their rooms for the day. If anyone had said something was suspicious about them and the Babylon 5 security was tracking them, it would be best if they did not see the two wandering through the station. If anyone came to get them in their room and put them in the brig – well, Dean had thought grimly – they had escaped from worse places before.

But no one had come for them that day. Which prompted the two to resume their interrupted investigation the following morning – after breakfast at McBurry's, per Dean's suggestion and to Sam's annoyance. They had met plenty of security personnel en route, but none of them had taken any notice of the two brothers. That had to mean that Delenn had not reported anything suspicious about the two of them – such as the fact that they had faked their identities to get on the station. Still, Dean could not let his guard down. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he had the feeling that the indirect confrontation was a prelude to something.

"If she was really confronting you," Sam pointed out. "Maybe you've read too much in what she was saying. Maybe her mention of Hunters was completely coincidental."

Sam himself was aware that it was highly unlikely to be so. It never was only a coincidence with them, anyway. Still someone had to play devil's advocate – and didn't that expression bring up whole different meanings when it came to Dean and himself. By the look on Dean's face he could see that the latter knew Sam was not really buying his own theory.

"OK," Sam accepted. "You're right she was letting you know she knew more about you than you thought she did. But how? And why? Why mention it to you in the first place?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. He himself did not much care how Delenn had found out about Hunters and how she had come to the conclusion that Dean was one. If she had indeed reached that conclusion on her own. Someone could have told her. In which case there was someone else on the station who knew Sam and Dean's real identity. Things just kept getting better and better. As to why Delenn had mentioned to Dean that she suspected something about him…well, Dean attribute all kinds of motives to that, ranging from intimidation to blackmail.

"Maybe she wants to tell me she has her eyes on me," he said thoughtfully. "Like a be careful cause I'm watching you kind of deal. One wrong move and I spill the beans on you."

"Do you think it has to do with the talisman?" Sam wanted to know. "Do you think she knows we're after it?"

Dean shook his head at that.

"Dude, _we _don't even know we're after it," he pointed out. "All we have is something you might have heard between the Centauri Ambassador and that dude that was with him."

"Morden," Sam specified. "He was…strange. Guy looked like a run of the mill business man. Acted like one too. But…"

Here Sam paused and tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. His instincts had been warning him about Morden ever since he had set eyes on the man. There was something about him. Nothing overt, true. To the untrained observer Morden looked nothing if not respectable. He did not look at all dangerous. But he had to be. Sam remembered the way Londo had looked at the mysterious Morden and that was enough to tell him he had to be.

"Let me ask you something," Sam began. "When have you seen an alien diplomat of Londo's status listen to what a human is telling him to do?"

"Just about never," Dean answered. "Do you think he's working with the demon that supposedly was possessing that dude in Downbelow?"

Sam thought about that for a while. It was plausible. But he did not really believe it. He shook his head. He saw that Dean had not been completely sold on the idea either.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Dean confessed. "If he was the demon, he would have told Mollari to fetch the talisman for him instead of staying away from it."

"I wonder why he did that," Sam mused. "Tell Mollari he can't have a piece of the talisman, that is."

Dean had no answer for that. He was sure, though, that whatever reasons Morden had from keeping the talisman away from Mollari, they had nothing to do with Sam and Dean's business. They had already speculated the talisman could offer more advantages than even Cas knew. And some of these advantages were no business of theirs. Therefore, Morden's reasons for preventing the Centauri from using the talisman were also no business of theirs.

"Let's just focus on our kind of job, Sammy," Dean urged. "Leave whatever beef Mollari and Morden have with each other for someone else."

Sam had nothing to say in reply to that. He had not told Dean that he had felt a certain understanding for the Centauri Ambassador. Sam still remembered that he had thought he had seen something of himself – the old version of himself, the one before Hell – in Londo Mollari. At any rate, Sam was certain that he could recognise desperation anywhere and that was exactly what Londo was: desperate. Why, Sam had no idea. It surely had to do with the Narn war. And it was no business for Earth Hunters, just as Dean had tried to tell him. Nonetheless, Sam could not help being curious. But Dean was right about one thing. Whatever was going on had nothing to do with what Sam and Dean usually did. And since it was not their area of expertise, they could not get involved in it. They could only try fixing the things they had been trained to fix – and that kept them busy enough, without the need to interfere in any other affairs.

"All right," Sam agreed. "So what's the course of action now? Look for the talisman? But how? I mean, where do we start?"

"I think some good old-fashioned field work could help," Dean said. "How about we hit the Zocalo and any other trading places? Talk to the vendors, try to get them to tell us whether any of the objects they have might come with some kind of history."

It was the best course of action, of course. But Sam could see a flaw in it.

"You know they're all gonna say everything they have comes with history, Dean," he pointed out. "It's how they sell their junk to gullible visitors."

Dean pushed his plate aside and got up. He did not seem that bothered with Sam's information.

"Well, that's why I have you with me," he replied. "Spot what's only hokum meant to make tourists empty out their pockets and recognise anything genuine. You're the research genius after all."

Sam stared at his brother unable to make up his mind whether Dean was being serious or just pulling his leg.

"I…am?" he asked in the end.

Dean grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Why else d'you think I still keep you around?" he countered easily.

**Ambassador Delenn's quarters**

Delenn was on a video call with the Brakiri Ambassador. Ambassador Lethke had at first been puzzled that Delenn was calling him instead of simply seeking him out and talking to him face to face. Delenn preferred face to face communication, after all. But when Delenn had promptly started to ask him about a practice that Lethke had thought few other than the Brakiri knew about, his surprise turned to irritation.

"I do not understand," he confessed bluntly. "You have no interest in this matter. Why ask me about Hunters? We do not talk about Hunters."

Delenn raised her eyebrows at that. She supposed she should have been grateful for the fact that Lethke at least had not tried to deny the fact that he knew about Hunters altogether.

"I am afraid I am the one who does not understand," Delenn replied calmly. "From what I gathered, Ambassador, your people use these Earth Hunters quite often. They even reward them for their services."

"_Some _Brakiri do that," Lethke admitted in the end. "The more…_uncivilised _classes. Those of us who are more educated find the need to employ Hunters an embarrassment. It is a practice that we cannot actually condemn, but we do not talk about it. Especially not to other races. We find that it makes us lose face."

Delenn tried not to show her impatience. The Markab who had come to her with a warning about two people on the station and vague hints and legends had also refused to give too many details. He had done it out of superstition and fear and the idea that simply talking about something would bring shame upon him. The Brakiri Ambassador also refused to say too much. This time, the motive had more to do with personal reputation. The Ambassador wanted to save face. Delenn refrained from pointing out that Lethke would have sounded less suspicious if he simply answered her questions instead of pretending to know only slightly what she was talking about.

"In that case do you think you can get hold of one these – as you call them – "uncivilised" Brakiri and ask him to bring me some information on Hunters?" Delenn asked instead.

Lethke hesitated. No doubt he was wondering what Delenn's game was. Delenn was actually asking herself the same thing. She did not know why she was so keen on finding out more. Yet the story that the hysterical Markab had brought to her two days before had piqued her interest.

"You know, Delenn," Lethke said at length. "I fail to see why you are so eager to learn more about this superstition. But I will do what I can. I'll have someone come talk to you."

Delenn inclined her head.

"Thank you, Ambassador," she said, then, driven by instinct she went on, carefully watching the Brakiri's reaction: "Oh, and when you do find someone, tell them I want information on one topic in particular – tell them I want to know about Winchester."

Something flashed in the Brakiri Ambassador's face. There was worry there for a brief moment as well as surprise. He tried to cover it but he was not quick enough. Delenn had seen it. She knew now that, even though the Brakiri claimed not to agree with the practice of consulting Hunters, he was also very much informed about any rumours involving them.

The call terminated. Delenn shook her head. She did not know why she was taking this road. If the young reporter that had come to see her the previous morning and his brother were not who they said they were, surely that was not a matter to earn the interest of the Minbari Ambassador? That was Earth business, mostly. At best, she could inform John Sheridan and let him take care of things. At worst, she could just ignore the whole story.

Somehow, she could do neither. Ignoring it and dismissing it as an Earth matter was not a good course of action. Dean Parks – or was it Winchester? – had sought her out. During that time his brother had been talking to Londo Mollari. Why? If the Markab who had recognised them was right and the two were lying about making a documentary, why were they talking to the alien diplomats? What did they hope to accomplish?

Why wasn't she going to Sheridan with this, then? As the governor of Babylon 5, he deserved to know if there were any threats to the security of the station. And two people lying about their identity and questioning diplomats under false pretences felt very much like a threat.

But Delenn had decided reporting on the two would not be wise, not yet, at least. For one, the only proof she had were the vague hints of a frightened Markab. For another, if the Markab was really right and if the two really were Hunters that it must have been their job that had brought them to Babylon 5. And from what Delenn had heard Hunters dealt with – even if she was not sure she should believe such things or, at least, take them literally – it seemed that hindering them from doing their jobs might have grave consequences for the station. Which was why Delenn had decided to do nothing as of yet – just watch and gather more information.

Actually, if the two really had pure motives, Delenn would have gladly provided them with assistance in any form she would have been capable of giving – which was mostly offering information or interfering on their behalf to channels regular visitors did not normally have access to. She had hinted that much to Dean, that they could come to her and she would help willingly, provided they renounced any subterfuges. But now, remembering the brief flash of indignation on the young man's face, Delenn realised that he had not taken her hints as an offer to help. He had actually taken them as a threat. It was sad, Delenn mused, that someone so young had been programmed to detect threats in every little thing.

There was the other brother, though. The one who had apparently gone to talk to Londo Mollari. Delenn decided to get Lennier to ask Vir Cotto about him. Perhaps he was easier to approach.

With that, Delenn turned to a recommendation she had been working on about a trade agreement with a new alien race. She had, after all, her usual obligations as ambassador to perform. She could not afford dwelling on distractions too much.


	5. Chapter 4 Digging a little deeper

**Chapter 4 Digging a little deeper**

**As usual, SPN and B5 do not belong to me, nor do any recognizable characters. Enjoy.**

**Zocalo**

Dean Winchester thought he was just about to get in touch with his violent side. Not that said side was not always close to the surface and ready to be accessed anyway. But that usually happened when there were monsters to be killed. He could not unleash it on a civilian. He could most definitely not unleash it on a trader in the marketplace of the ultimate diplomatic station. Which was unfortunate.

As he and Sam had agreed in the morning, they were going to have some discussions with any sellers of occult – or so-called occult – objects. When they had started their investigation, Dean had had no idea how many of these actually were in the Zocalo. Even those at the fruit stands had the odd amulet tucked between oranges – "for special customers who understand", as the lady at the stand had told the brothers, meaning for anyone who looked wealthy enough and dumb enough to pay a fortune to buy something that supposedly guaranteed luck at the cards table. But at least the one with the lucky oranges had been hot. The present vendor they had to deal with – Frank Carstairs of Orion 7 - definitely was not.

He was a lavishly dressed man who had supposedly travelled up to the Rim and back – no doubt via a bottle of strong brivari, Dean thought unkindly. According to him, he had learned that way all the secrets the galaxy had to offer – but would not share them with just _anyone_, and wasn't that a surprise – and had miraculously discovered – i.e. forged or stolen – dozens of objects with amazing magical and mystical powers. Some, he had added in a stage whisper, were the stuff that darkness was made of.

"This, for example," he added, waving a dusty vase in Sam's face (Dean had drawn slightly back, when he had started to feel the urge to smother the man in one of his so called magical and mystical carpets) "This is the bottle of Perdition. The old woman who sold it to me – she was mad, you see and wanted to get rid of the thing and let me have it at only a few credits – she claimed it had a devil inside it. Would you care to open it?"

"No, I've already tried one of those once, thanks," Sam deadpanned.

Dean disguised his snort as a cough – or tried to, he did not think he had succeeded much as the intrepid merchant had just thrown him a dirty look, then turned his attention pointedly to Sam as if to show that he knew who the open-minded one was.

"As for this," he added, digging another object from the haphazard mound on his table. "This is…it is…"

"A lump of rock?" Dean provided helpfully when the vendor paused to draw breath.

Frank looked positively insulted by the suggestion.

"Why, how dare you, Sir?" he spat, his voice shaking in indignation. "That's blasphemy if I ever heard it. This, gentlemen, is the first ever representation of Dro'shalla the Drazi deity. The Drazi claimed that it has been blessed by Dro'shalla himself and by some fertility god of theirs."

"Lucky Drazi," Dean commented drily. "Sammy, what do you think?"

"It's a lump of rock," Sam declared with certainty. "The first representation of Dro'shala is actually a drawing in one of the caves next to the capital city of the Drazi homeworld. I rather doubt anyone would be able to get it out of there without causing an explosion to bring down the walls."

"Thank you," Dean said as the vendor started sputtering, "My thoughts exactly actually. Now, are you actually thinking of tricking some unsuspecting douchebag into paying a fortune for a lump of rock, telling him it's gonna help him get lucky? Dude, that's cold."

"I wonder what the Drazi might think of you taking their god's name in vain for profit," Sam mused, then turned to Dean: "You know," he stated not too quietly. "This would go well in an episode of our documentary."

Dean frowned.

"What, now we're making episodes?" he asked. "One long documentary isn't enough for you anymore?"

"People aren't going to remember every aspect of it like that," Sam argued. "If you have one documentary which tells the story of ambassador Delenn or…or shows the Narn refugees coming to Medlab, who's gonna pay attention to some harmless religious fraud? If you show it in an episode that deals with the deceivers of Babylon 5…"

Dean was nodding now, as if to further emphasize that he had got the picture.

"I see where you're heading," he said, "We do it your way and all those poor sons of bitches we expose are gonna have a really hard time explaining themselves to everyone they'd ever conned…Why, they might need one of their own lucky charms – if these actually worked."

Frank was watching the exchange fearfully. Things were happening too fast for him to really process how it had all gone from a harmless talk about spiritual items to him being exposed as the con artist he knew he was. Still, he prided himself in being a businessman. He was in big trouble, but he was confident he could get out of it. Since the two were mentioning all those things in front of him it meant they would not actually expose him – if offered the right price.

"All right!" he interrupted the two with a nervous chuckle. "All right guys, you got me. How much do you want?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean inquired and he sounded indignant. "He's offering to buy us off. As if we'd be interested in profit over here."

"We're not," Sam stated steely. "But that does not mean he can't do something for us."

"Anything," the vendor said quickly. "Name it. Only, have a little pity guys. I've got debts to pay."

"We want to know if there's anything in the pile of junk you sell that's actually genuine," Dean demanded.

The vendor's eyes widened. That was all?

"Well," he spoke slowly wondering if the truth would work or if this was not yet another trap, "Well, nothing of what I have has actually been tested to see whether they really have any powers or not…"

"Got it," Sam cut him short. "You've got nothing genuine. Do you know anyone here who does?"

Frank was becoming more and more puzzled. This was not about him then. The two so-called journalists – they had started out acting as journalists but now their demeanor had changed frighteningly – needed information on something specific. That was why they were bothering him. To make him talk.

"Look," he said nervously, "Everyone claims they have the genuine article to the competition. That does not mean the competition believes them. As far as I know there's no one here who actually has any mystical objects…except…"

He paused chewing his lips. Sam noticed his hesitation and nodded encouragingly.

"Come on," he urged. "Except…? Except what? Who's the exception?"

The vendor scratched his head thoughtfully.

"There's this guy," he said in the end, "Pops up from time to time. He doesn't have a fixed place in the market, though. He carries a bag about him with all kinds of creepy stuff. Sometimes he stops people in the Zocalo and shows them what he's got. Then he leads them away so no one here's seen him actually making any transactions. Those happen in secret. I think – I'm not sure, but I've heard he has the genuine articles. Talismans, amulets, cursed stuff, you name it."

"This guy," Dean prompted. "He human?"

The vendor shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess," he answered. "His face is damaged though. Like it's been burned. Probably been in the war. And he moves funny. I haven't been near him, though. He creeps me out."

"And the ones he makes transactions with," Sam wanted to know, "they human too?"

"Not only," the vendor replied quickly. "Most of the time it's aliens. Centauri usually. Lately a few Narns. A Drazi or two. The only race I've never seen him approach is the Minbari. Which is why I think he's one of those who haven't gotten over the war. Or maybe because the Minbari are genuinely snotty and Minbari dignitaries even more so. Like I said, I haven't talked to him to ask him for reasons."

Dean met Sam's eyes. The other gave an imperceptible nod. This strange person the vendor was telling them about, he had a lot of chances of possessing the object they had been sent to find.

"All right," Dean said cheerfully. "How do we get him to talk to us?"

Frank snorted.

"No offence, folks," he told them, "But you're hardly the type of people he'd approach. I know you wannabe show-business types like to see yourselves as ruthless, but just no. You're not that kind of ruthless – you know, the one that starts wars and brings about assassinations and all that jazz. In other words, your game ain't big enough for him."

"We'll see about that," Dean said. "Well, thanks, dude. You can keep selling your clumps of rocks. You've been helpful enough."

Dean turned around, steering Sam with him. As they moved away from the stall, Sam glanced at him.

"Well played out there," he congratulated.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "You too. It got us what we needed."

**Ambassador Delenn's quarters**

Delenn inspected the Brakiri dignitary who had just entered her quarters. He had identified himself as Kullenbrak, said he occupied a minor position in the ambassadorial staff and that his ambassador had sent him to fulfil Delenn's rather unusual request. He said all that while he was looking around him, a curious expression on his face. No doubt, he had never seen a Minbari room before.

"You wanted to hear about Hunters, Ambassador," he began. "And more specifically about the Winchesters. Is that correct?"

Delenn inclined her head.

"Yes, that is so," she admitted. "But let us start with the basics. What can you tell me about Hunters? The person who mentioned them to me the first time…he was not exactly specific."

"No one likes to be specific about Hunters," Kullenbrak admitted. "Most think it's bad luck – or bad form. Hunters are necessary. They follow the things that hide in shadows and they take them down. They live on the fringes of society, moving from here to there, tackling the unexplainable. Most fear them. The Brakiri do too. Unlike others, though, we do not reject them, because we need them. We even pay for their services. We offer them supplies when they arrive on our planets. But that's all. We do not want to think too much about them. Or, at least, those that have not used them do not."

"But you did use them," Delenn concluded. "And you do not shun them. You think differently."

Kullenbrak lowered his eyes. He shook his head slowly, as if to show he had not really thought much about how he felt.

"I do not know what to think," he admitted. "A couple of years ago, something dark and terrible was in my house. I do not know what it was. But I was sure I'd have need of Hunters to get rid of it. And they did get rid of it. They saved my life and my family. Of course I am grateful. How could I not be? I'm going to be eternally grateful to them, despite what other people say – about Hunters in general and about these two in particular."

"You are talking about the Winchesters," Delenn discovered.

The Brakiri nodded emphatically.

"I am," he replied. "They were the ones who came in answer to my call for help. As I said, we Brakiri might fear Hunters, but we know how to make use of them. We keep in contact with them. Well, with their headquarters, at least, if you could call them that. There is a man on Mars that we call and he is the one who sends the nearest Hunters our way. For people always on the run from their authorities, they have a very efficient system.

"Anyway, the nearest Hunters, in my case, happened to be the Winchester brothers. I do not if I would have let them into my house had I known in advance. Even I had heard rumors about them. People said they were damned, that one of them was tainted and the other had made a deal with darkness. It was said they would break the world."

Delenn tilted her head curiously at that.

"The world is not broken," she pointed out.

The Brakiri shrugged at that.

"Not yet," he said, "Anyway, Ambassador, that was what people said about them. That is what they saw in Dean and Sam Winchester. But that is not what I saw. That was not what I saw at all."

Kullenbrak paused. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Or maybe he was just searching to describe something he had not intended to put into words until then.

"I had never seen too people more independent and strong-willed and yet at the same time more tied to one another," he said at length. "Sometimes, the tension between them was so thick you had to wonder how they managed to be in the same room without something exploding. Yet when it was necessary they behaved like a single unit. And they did not even need to say anything to each other. They carried entire conversations just with one look. The rest of us around them were just…we felt as if we were only part of the décor.

"I wondered about all the rumors I had heard about them, then. I tried to tie these rumors to the young men that had come to help me. For they looked very young then. And yet there had to have been some truth to the rumors. Because they seemed to have a darkness about them. Actually, they seemed to have the entire world on their shoulders. It was painful to watch. These two, I reminded myself, are said to be the ones who could end the world."

"Did you still believe that after you saw them?" Delenn asked.

Kullenbrak paused. Delenn noticed that he was carefully considering how to answer the question. Apparently, a plain answer could not be enough. Things then were far more complicated than the Markab had been implying.

"I do not know," Kullenbrak said at length. "They could do it, yes. Would they break the world intentionally? Maybe not. It was not that kind of darkness they had in them. But could they be led to do it? I really do not know. I wonder."

Delenn thought whether he should ask the other if he would be able to recognize the Winchesters if he saw them. If he identified the two so-called journalists as actual Hunters then at least Delenn would have an answer to her puzzle. Still, it did not seem fair to go that far. Delenn had, after all, told Dean he could come to her with the truth. Whether it had been interpreted as a threat or as the offer for help it had actually been, the choice belonged to him – and his brother.

**Note: Kullenbrak was Ambassador to B5 in 2262 – so, post- Shadow War and about two years after the events of my story. He might not have been a member of his predecessor's staff, but I figured if Londo Mollari promoted his attaché to Ambassador, others could do the same. **


End file.
